


Home or Somewhere Like It

by Fatale (femme)



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-24
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-27 22:22:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/667124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme/pseuds/Fatale





	1. Chapter 1

Title: Home or Somewhere Like It  
Pairing: Fraser/RayK  
Rating: PG13  
A/N: post-CotW

 

 

 

 

It all started with a rogue lumberjack and a waffle, and like so many things involving Fraser, it just kind of snowballed from there.

“Don’t do that, Fraser. Do not do that to me,” Ray said, stalking away from Fraser. He turned around to wave a finger in Fraser’s face, punctuating each word with a stabbing motion that moved his finger perilously closer to Fraser’s eye.

“Do what, Ray?” he asked blankly, even though Ray knew Fraser knew what he was doing.

“That condescending thing.”

It would be so easy to stab him in the eye and claim it was an accident later, Ray thought. _Sorry I stabbed you in the eye, Fraser-buddy. Twice._

“I fail to see how simply pointing out the minute flaws in your plan is condescending.”

 _Because you’re annoying and perfect and you always come up with dumbass plans that always seem to work better than my dumbass plans_ , he wanted to say, but he didn’t because even Ray could appreciate the fact that it wasn’t really Fraser’s fault. That didn’t stop him from being angry about it, though.

“Oh, and my idea of splitting up and coming at him from two different directions wasn’t a good idea, but knocking him out with a stale waffle was?” Ray could feel Fraser frown at his back as they trudged towards the sled. At least, Ray hoped he was heading towards the sled. Everything looked like fucking snow to him.

“It wasn’t that splitting up wasn’t a good idea - and if you’ll recall, Ray, we did that - but there were too many innocent bystanders around and I simply felt that an alternative method would have been more advisable. I just happened to have extra food on me left over from this morning.”

“A moose, Fraser, not some woman with kids, kind of innocent bystander. Lets get that straight."

"Caribou, actually, and also protected by the-"

"So you ignored my idea," Ray interrupted, "dragged me along, and then did what you wanted anyway. Have I got that, Fraser? Cause it is not sounding so good from here.”

“Ray-"

“Shut up, Fraser, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray-”

“ _What_?” If Fraser said his name one more time, he would kick Fraser in the head.

“The sled’s the other way.”

“Oh."

 

  
***

 

“Ray, I’ve been thinking.”

“Yeah, aren’t you always?” Ray asked, his voice lacking the sharpness of earlier. He wasn‘t angry anymore, just tired of talking, tired of being side-kick to Fraser: The Freak Show and his posse of one. They weren’t even a duet anymore, they were a, uh, dictatorship or something.

They were in their sorry-ass tent, which was really just a sheet over a couple sticks with snow packed onto it. Fraser rolled over on his side towards him and the light from the kerosene threw a soft, golden glow over his features. Flattering, but what light wasn’t?

Fraser propped his head up on an arm, pulling the fabric of his shirt taut over his shoulders and chest. The planes and shadows of his body caught Ray’s eye and reminded him how scrawny he was in comparison. Fraser was built, and the rogue lumberjack that they’d chased across 500 miles of snow, snow and more snow for illegally cutting down some kind of protected trees, was built too. It was like Canada was filled with burly men who wiped their asses with tree trunks, and here he was, with his skinny arms and experimental hair.

“When I was a young boy, my father-”

“Fraser, I don’t want to hear any stories about your father.”

“You talk about your father all the time,” Fraser pointed out.

And that was true - here in the wide, open space, he’d wanted to talk about his father, who he’d never really seen eye to eye with. It’s like they could only be close when Ray was half a world away.

“Yeah, well, my stories ain’t boring like yours.”

There was a tense silence, and Ray had the decency to feel bad. How’d he like it if his dad died and he tried to share stories with his best friend and his friend told him that they were boring and he didn’t want to listen to them? Stella had always called him an emotional moron and he was beginning to agree with her.

Thing was, Fraser wouldn’t ever say anything that cruel and that was just something else for Ray to feel guilty about. Hurting a Mountie’s feelings - how low could you sink? It was like hitting a little kid, you just didn’t do it unless you were a complete asshole.

Ray sighed. “I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean that.”

“I understand.”

“Tell me about your father.”

“Perhaps another time, Ray.”

Ray blew out a hard breath. “Fraser, are you baiting me again? Because I would think about that long and carefully since I sleep next to you and would have no problem bashing your head in while you slept.”

“If you insist, Ray.”

“I insist, I most definitely insist.”

“As you know, I only saw my father every few months. On one of the rare occasions he was home, instead of spending the time with us, he went on what he called a 'soul quest'. When I became upset that he once again chose solitude over his family, he explained what a soul quest was to me, and that sometimes, men went out to nature to find themselves. It made them better men, Ray. In his case, I think he hoped it would make him a better father.”

“So did it?”

Fraser licked his lip thoughtfully. “No, not really.”

“Lemme guess, you want me to go on one of these soul quest thingies?”

“You might find a similar expedition helpful. Nature is a wild beast, Ray, and communing with it is about as close as a man can get to talking with God.”

“Have you completely fallen off your rocker, Fraser? You want me to go stomping around in the snow alone? I get winded just trying to go to the bathroom.”

“You wouldn’t have to go far, Ray. And since we wrapped this case up early, we have enough provisions and we won’t be expected back at the post for at least another week. We have enough time if you feel this is something you should do.”

It was obvious that Fraser was trying to get rid of him, but wasn't going to ask outright.

“Fine, I’ll poke around the snow for a few days and become one with nature or some shit." He turned away from Fraser and then added spitefully over his shoulder, "And then when we get to town, I’m taking the first plane off this iceberg.”

There was another painful pause.

“Well, you see, Ray, though square kilometres of mainland Canada is ice, it is not-”

“ _Shut up_.”

“Understood.”

 

  
***

 

It wasn't so bad out here alone, if you went stupid and forgot that a misstep might kill you. The snow was real pretty when the sun hit it like that, and it made Fraser so goddamn happy, which was good, since he wasn't doing so great a job at it these days. Seemed like all they did was argue and last night he'd said he was leaving. He didn't know why he'd said that. He didn't think he meant it.

Maybe he just wanted to know if Fraser would try to talk him out of it.

He remembered how it got like this with Stella, the day when he realized that she was smarter than he and he'd never catch up, not with a thesaurus and a million years to study. She didn't need him one bit and never had. With Fraser, though, he brought something to their duet. Fraser would set 'em up and he'd knock 'em down. At least, that's how their duet went in his head.

Turns out, he was tone deaf.

All along, Fraser had been humouring him, just like Stella. He didn't need a scrawny little Polack to knock anyone down - he could do that all on his own and had been for years before Ray ever pissed in the snow.

Just being in Canada - around people that treated Fraser like a god, a walking legend - drove that point home. Benton Fraser, saviour of otters, dogs and fish alike with his trusty sidekick, Stanley What's-his-name.

What the hell made him reach for people like Stella and Fraser?

He knew all the questions, he just didn't have any of the answers. Maybe he'd find them out here, this soul thingy might be good for him. He needed some serious thinking time. Fraser had been right again and that just pissed him off even more.

 

  
***

 

He’d paced through the snow, lifting his feet up high in his snowshoes and his aching leg muscles told him it was time to turn in for the night. He’d taken four steps when he heard an ominous crack. It didn’t bother him much because the ice was always doing that and he’d stopped nearly wetting himself every time he heard that sound months ago.

That’s why he wasn’t prepared for the way the ice shifted suddenly, sending his world vertical, in a dizzying swirl of snow and sky, all blending together and then he was falling.

The last coherent thought he had was, “Shit, Fraser is gonna be so smug.”

 

  
***

 

 

He'd fallen into one of those crevasse things again. He remembered the last time he'd been in one of those, wedged up against Fraser between two hunks of ice. It had pissed him off mightily at the time because he was gonna die and it was all Fraser's fault because he'd insisted on jumping out of Muldoon's airplane when Ray had the henchmen on the _run_ with his patented "dolphin boy" style of fighting.

Except it hadn't been that bad because Fraser'd been there that time. Also, his leg wasn't broken then.

He'd fallen onto some kind of narrow ledge about fourteen feet down, and the smooth walls of ice gleamed on either side. He caught the edge of his glove between his teeth and tugged it off so he could feel the surface of the ice better, see if maybe he could climb out. A sharp pain shot up his entire leg and he slammed his head against the ground in an effort not yell out loud. With his luck, he'd get eaten by a polar bear.

He tugged off his other glove and fumbled with the zippered right pocket of his jacket where he kept his flare gun. His fingers, cold and numb, had trouble grasping the gun, but he managed to point it towards the sky and blindly shoot it off. The flare sailed above his head with a quiet whoosh and Ray tried not to think that his life pretty much depended on that dumb little hunk of metal. Well, also Fraser and he trusted Fraser a lot more than the gun.

"Tuck in, Yank, you'll be fine," a voice said from behind him.

"Jesus," Ray yelled, his head twisting around to take in an old man dressed in crazy-ass fur boots with a large tan jacket and some kind dead animal on his head. A very familiar dead animal - the kind only Mounties wore.

"Who the hell are you?"

The man raised his eyebrows, as if surprised he’d forgotten his manners. "Robert Fraser, RCMP." He held out a hand toward Ray invitingly. “You can call me Bob."

"Wait, I don't think I heard you right." Ray pulled his hat off and ran frantic hands over his head, looking for the kind of mortal head wounds that would make him see dead Mounties.

"Robert Fraser, Benton's father."

"Fraser's dad?" Ray asked, eyeing the outstretched hand warily. "Aren't you dead?"

"Why, yes,” Bob said nonchalantly, as if Ray met his partner’s dead parents all the time. When it became obvious that Ray wasn’t about to take his hand, he pulled it back and sniffed it, then shrugged.

"Oh, God. I really am going to die, aren't I?" Ray moaned and let himself fall back.

Bob shrugged again and Ray decided he was really beginning to hate when he did that. "We all die sometime."

"I just don't want to die yet. I've still got stuff to do, you know? Stuff that needs some serious doing."

"I know."

"So why are you here and all? Are you going to guide me to the afterlife?"

"Nah. I don't really know what I'm doing. I just thought you looked like you could use the company."

"Well, thanks for dropping by," Ray said and pulled his hat and gloves back on.

"Think nothing of it,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “I was in the neighbourhood."

"How come I haven’t seen any other dead Mounties around here?"

"Oh, there aren't many of us."

"Right, cause that would be weird or something."

Bob nodded along agreeably. "I wouldn't have even been wandering around if Caroline hadn't been testing my patience. I love the woman, but she can try a man's soul."

Ray shifted a bit closer. “Who's Caroline?”

“Benton‘s mother. Died when he was a boy.”

Ouch, okay. So maybe he shouldn’t have brought that up. "So,“ he tried, “what was Fraser like as a kid?"

"I couldn't really tell you. I wasn't around much."

"Oh." Ray figured he was two strikes down, end of the last inning and batting with his eyes closed, but what was he supposed to say? He'd left his manual about the proper responses to uncomfortable admissions from dead Mounties in his other pants pocket. Fraser would know exactly that to say, Ray thought, and felt another flash of irritation.

But that was wasn’t really right, either. Fraser would just shift from foot to foot and lick his lip or run a finger over his eyebrow, maybe tug at his collar and say something inane and completely irrelevant. If anything, he was worse that Ray at this feeling stuff and growing up without a mother or father might have a lot to do with it.

Suddenly, the pieces of the Fraser-shaped puzzle where falling into place and Ray didn’t much like the picture they were forming. He would have kicked himself in the head if he wasn't stuck in a huge crack in the ice and the bottom half of his body wasn't numb.

 

  
***

 

“Is it snowing?” Bob asked.

“It’s Canada, it’s always snowing."

“Thought so. I can feel a storm brewing in my bones.”

Ray opened his mouth to tell him that he couldn’t feel anything because he was dead, but what the hell did he know? Maybe there was a storm coming, the sky was already getting unnaturally dark

 

 

  
***

 

"How are you holding up there, Yank?"

Ray lifted his head from the pile of snow he'd been resting on. "I'm going to die," he said tiredly and let his head fall back. He'd stopped shaking some time during the night when the temperature dropped, which felt kind of better now that his teeth weren‘t chattering, but he knew that was a bad sign. When he started singing and talking about how he'd secretly wanted to be a figure skater when he was a boy, he'd know it was all over for him. Nada, game over, do not collect $200 and pass go.

"Nonsense. Benton's on his way."

"Fraser? How does some weird delusion I'm having know what Fraser's doing?"

Bob shook his head. "It's your delusion, Yank. You tell me."

"I hate my life," Ray muttered.

"Don’t be ridiculous. You ought to love your life - it's the only one you'll get." Bob sat down next to Ray, in the little space there was. "You should get up and move around. Keep your blood flowing."

"I tried, but my leg's broken. I don't know. I can't really feel much of anything."

"Oh," Bob said uncomfortably and stood up before shuffling to the other side of the ledge. "I am not babying him," he said, staring at a patch of ice.

"Please tell me you aren't losing your marbles, too," Ray muttered.

Bob looked back over at him, and the look he shot Ray might have been reassuring when it started out in Bob's head, but by the time it reached Ray, it was more of a sour grimace. "My mother."

Ray accepted that, as if it explained everything and in his rattled head, maybe it did. "She dead, too?" he asked, just for clarification.

"Not nearly enough," Bob replied with a small shudder.

Okay, Ray thought. If Fraser's dead dad can come hang out, then who not his grandmother? Hell, the more the merrier. Did they have a dead pet dog that might like to shack up in Ray's small crevasse? It was cramped, but homey.

"You don't know how annoying it is to have dead people hounding you that just won't leave you alone," Bob said, glancing down at Ray's huddled form.

“I can take a wild guess.”

 

 

  
***

 

 

“He’s not coming,” Ray said, half to himself. “Storming outside, dark. It would be smarter to wait for the storm to pass, then look for me.”

“He won’t.”

“I’ll be dead by then.”

“That’s why he can’t.”

 

  
***

 

 

A small movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. “What’re you doing?”

“I think someone’s coming,” Bob said quietly, tilting his head to the side, kind of like Dief, when he was confused or he smelled fresh donuts.

Ray tried to sit up, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. “Fraser?”

“I can’t imagine who else it would be,” Bob said with an odd gleam in his eye.

Pride, Ray realised. Pride in his stupid son who would go after his friend in a snowstorm when everyone else would have given up. God, he wished Fraser could see his dad now, looking like he’d bust if he was any prouder of his son. Damian Kowalski had never felt that way about his son, he’d bet.

Fraser, he had to see Fraser so he could tell him about this moment.

“Impeccable tracking skills,” Bob muttered.

Ray felt himself smiling tiredly. “Yeah, that’s our Fraser. Could track a polar bear through an ice storm.”

“Or a wayward Yank.” It wasn’t until Fraser’s dad caught him with a sharp gaze that Ray realised what he’d said. He’d called Fraser theirs, claimed a bit of Fraser for himself. And he’s said it to Fraser’s Dad, letting him know that maybe they'd become a little more than buddies.

Something like that couldn’t be taken back and Ray didn’t really want to. He didn’t think many people bought their story that they were just friends that lived together and sometimes made out.

Anyway, Bob had to know something was up, and if he didn’t, he did now.

Ray felt like squirming under his scrutiny. Now he knew where Fraser got his intense gaze from, like he could see all the nasty little bits of his personality that he tried to keep hidden. But Fraser had stripped it all away and found something, something he must of thought was worth it, because he up and took Ray to Canada with him, where he had known it would be just the two of them sometimes for months at a time.

Ray tried to sit up, determined to look Fraser’s dad in the eye - nothing had ever seemed so important before. He was nearly completely numb and what little of his body he could feel ached painfully. His limbs felt like they weighed a hundred pounds and with all this crap on, they probably did, but he couldn’t afford to be without it. Using his arms for leverage, he managed to sit up and face Fraser’s dad, man to man. Then he fell over, face first into the snow with a soft “oof”.

He struggled to push himself back up. “Lost my balance there,” he said awkwardly.

Bob nodded once in an almost imperceptible movement that Ray would have missed if he wasn’t looking for it. He felt warm under Bob’s gaze and for a moment, he forgot the cold.

 

 

  
***

 

 

 

"What are you doing?" Ray asked groggily, half asleep.

"Singing. Do you want me to stop?"

"No, s’okay. Kind of nice, actually. I like the queen and all."

"Good. That's good." He finished the song and then moved on to another that Ray hadn’t heard before. He had a nice voice, kind of like Fraser’s.

Bob hit a particularly sharp note and Ray heard a distant rumbling that didn’t sound so good. The kind of rumbling that sounded like an oncoming train and a pack of wild horses all rolled into one ungodly force of nature.

“Avalanche, fairly far off,” Bob said in a steady voice, expression neutral. “Benton will be out of range.” But it was his eyes that caught Ray’s attention. They were still, filled with a quiet kind of fear that scared Ray shitless; Mounties weren’t ever supposed to look like that. Especially not when talking about Fraser.

When Ray had been seventeen and stupid, he’d taken Stella for a ride on his new motorcycle. He’d been trying to show off, went faster than he should have and took a turn too tightly. They’d skidded out, and he’d realized two things a moment before they hit the tree: one - if anything happened to Stella, it would be his fault and two - he’d die without her.

They hit the tree with a blinding flash of moment, light and the sickening sound of twisting metal melting together. He didn’t remember anything after that, until minutes later, when he was laying in a stunned heap with Stella’s warm weight at his back and he was trembling and near tears. Couldn’t bring himself to look at Stella because he was too afraid of what he’d find.

Objectively, he knew that one person couldn’t control whether someone lived or died, but he couldn’t make his body believe that. It felt like that now, knowing Fraser might be out there stuck in some kind of avalanche, only this moment didn’t end.

He curled up in on himself then, too tired to cry out, and laid down in the snow. He thought he heard Bob say, “Don’t give up hope, Yank,” but he wasn’t listening anymore.

 

 

  
***

 

 

 

 

Sometime during the night, Fraser’s dad began to sing again, some simple, unfamiliar tune and Ray wondered how he could sing when his son might be dead.

“I need him,” Ray said in a dry, cracked voice. “Can’t breathe without him.”

“I know the feeling.”

He thought he felt the ghost of a hand on the back of his head, a comforting weight in the darkness. Maybe his mom had touched him like that once, but he couldn’t remember it, and everything else paled in comparison to the great, deep ache in his chest.

Ray felt his eyes slide shut as he listened to Bob sing while the wind whistled over the rocks. And from somewhere far off, he thought he heard someone call his name.

 

 

 

THE END.  


 

 


	2. Epilogue

Epilogue:

 

When guys woke up feeling like Ray did, there was usually a dead prostitute in the bathtub. It was like The Law Of All Things Fucked Up.

"Ray?" a familiar voice asked, a cool hand resting against his too-hot forehead

“Fraser?” He wanted to sit up, but his body felt too heavy. ”Fuck, am I paralysed?”

“No, you have four blankets on you.”

“Fraser? God, I thought you were dead and I was talking to spirits and some old lady - said she was your grandma- was yelling at a dead Mountie and I missed you and I couldn’t breathe, kinda like now.” Ray realised he was babbling, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Just being around Fraser was like being found again and his joy was intoxicating.

“I see.”

“You didn’t catch any of that, did you?” Ray said, closing his eyes. He wanted to talk to Fraser, but the heat was making him sleepy.

“Not a word.” The hand pulled away from his face. He wished Fraser would put it back. “How are you feeling, Ray?”

"Greatness," he said with closed eyes. "I have never been better." He smacked his dry lips once, twice, and wondered how long he'd been out. He hoped he didn’t have a beard - it made him look old and it had been a few days since he’d last seen Fraser. He suddenly felt self-conscious, which was stupid because Fraser had seen him looking much worse. 

He didn’t know if he would be taken seriously if he asked a nurse for hair gel.

"Do you want something to drink?" Fraser asked quietly.

He thought about saying no because he wanted Fraser to stay with him, but he was thirsty. "Yeah. Just-”

“Yes, Ray?”

“Don’t stay gone too long.”

He felt a pat on his leg and heard Fraser's boots squeak as he left the room. They’d have to talk about all the stuff between them and their messy issues eventually, but for now, it was okay because he realized something important when stuck in the ass-crack of that iceberg: He needed Fraser and Fraser needed him. It was mutual-like. 

They were still a duet, even if Fraser was a glory hog that liked attention a lot more than he let on. But that was why Fraser needed him - if his head got any bigger, Ray could throw him into the water and use him as a raft. He needed Ray to keep him in line and remind him how he always seemed to see all kinds of shit, but always missed the obvious. Plus, there was the whole emotion and love thing, but he’d bumble that up when the time came. 

When Fraser ran out of stale waffles to capture prisoners with, he’d be there, backing him as always.

"I suppose you're going to stay with Benton, then"

Oh, god, Ray thought, not Fraser’s dad again. He was busy _epiphanizing._

"Guess so." He opened his eyes, but had to squint. The sun was obnoxiously bright, but he didn't really think that was why Fraser’s dad looked so tansmog- translat-, _fuck it_ \- see through.

"I guess it's for the best." Robert twirled his hat a bit in his hands before putting it on, like he’d seen Fraser do a million times. "It's about time for me to be getting home."

"Where exactly is your home?"

"Son, home is where people love you."

"So, I uh, guess this is my home. 'Cause of Fraser and all that."

"About that-"

"What, you got a problem with me and Fraser?" Ray might be down and the guy might be dead, but he could still do some head-kicking if he needed to.

"No, no problem, it's just that-” He paused. “Have you given any thought to adopting children? Benton’s mother and I, we’re not getting any younger and we’d like a few grandchildren."

Before he could open his mouth to say, _You’re not getting any younger because you’re dead_ , the door swung open and Fraser was there again, his eyes impossibly blue in the yellowish light filtering through the windows. 

He wanted to tell Fraser how good he looked, how much the guy had come to mean to him without either of them realising it, but it was kind of weird with his dad in the room and all. The words died in his throat and he wasn’t all that good explaining how he felt, anyway, but he would show Fraser later. They had the time now.

Fraser handed him a glass of water and he took a grateful sip before asking how Fraser had found him, fully expecting some kind of weird-ass story, like he’d licked a pair of Ray’s boxers and tracked him from scent alone. 

Instead Fraser asked, “Were you singing?”

“Now?”

“No, before I found you.”

“Yeah, Fraser. When, I fall into those crevice things, I sing to myself.”

“Crevasse.”

“Whatever.”

Fraser shook his head. “I was actually fairly far off your trail,” he said, looking vaguely embarrassed that he wasn’t able to track Ray better in an ice storm. “I heard singing and I followed the sound of the voice. I didn’t know if it was you, but I had hoped. I’d hoped.”

Oh. _Oh._

“Ray, can I ask you another question?”

“You just did, Fraser,” Ray said, fighting back a smile.

“Well, I mean another one, of course. I thought that was implied.”

“Yeah, okay. Shoot.”

“Were you talking to someone, just now, when I came in?"

“Maybe,” Ray hedged, trying not to look over to where Bob was standing in the corner, looking pleased as he looked back and forth between them. 

“Was he a-” Fraser shook his head, cutting himself off. “Oh, never mind.”

"Yeah, it's probably best we never talk about it,” Ray said and reached a hand towards Fraser’s, where it rested on the edge of the hospital bed. "Besides, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."


End file.
